


Bottles on the Wall

by queenofkadara



Series: Banal'halam: Solas & Elia Lavellan [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, POV Solas, Sex, Smut, Solas gets drunk by accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 10:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14952749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Elia Lavellan needs a drinking companion after a hard day, and Solas reluctantly joins in.Also known as: drunken Solavellan sex, with a side serving of feels.





	Bottles on the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Featuring one of the codex entries for the quest _Bottles on the Wall_.

“Solaaaaas.”

Solas jolts with surprise as Elia’s soft voice croons in his ear. He turns in his chair to greet her, then immediately raises one eyebrow. “Hello, vhenan. Are you drunk?”

A lopsided grin lights her lovely face. “Perhaps. Just a bit. I was with Bull and the Chargers.” 

Immediately he understands. They returned from the Storm Coast earlier that afternoon, and Solas knows she’s still concerned about how the afternoon's events played out. Solas approves of her decision to save the Chargers; he would certainly rather have a handful of loyal and competent fighters over a horde of mindlessly dogmatic ones. But as usual, Elia sees both sides, and he knows she’s worried about how Bull will cope with the hated label of Tal-Vashoth.

“The Iron Bull chose drinking over discussing, I suppose?” he asks.

Elia’s smile fades as she sits on the corner of his desk. “I tried talking things out with him once, after we came back from Adamant. He didn’t like that very much. So I decided to do things his way instead.” 

“I can see that,” Solas replies with a trace of amusement. Her voice is as calm and clear as usual, but she’s swaying very slightly despite her seated position on his desk. “Dare I ask how much you’ve had to drink?” 

“Just one cider,” she says innocently. “And some maraas-lok.” She raises a pretend glass to the air and whispers, “Maraas-lokkkk…”

 _Qunari liquor. Wonderful,_ Solas thinks with fond exasperation. Reluctantly he places a bookmark in his tome, then rises from his chair and takes her hand. “Come. You should have something to eat.” 

She obediently laces her fingers with his, and he smirks as she visibly pulls herself together before they leave the rotunda. To her credit, she manages to walk through the great hall in a perfectly straight line with a perfectly composed expression, and Solas doesn’t think anyone would know she’s inebriated unless they spoke to her. 

It seems that Elia is aware of this; she remains silent as they make their way towards the door that leads to Josephine’s office, then turn left towards the stairs that will take them down to the kitchen. But as soon as the door closes behind them, Elia grabs his arm and pulls him around to face her. She runs one finger along his jawline. “You’re very handsome, you know.” 

Solas forces himself not to laugh as he gently pulls her hand away from his face. “And you are very beautiful. And very much in need of food.” He leads her down the stairs with one solicitous hand on her back.

Elia’s face brightens as soon as they reach the bottom of the stairs, and before Solas can stop her, she makes a beeline away from the kitchen and off toward the wine cellar. 

“Elia,” he calls out warningly, then hurries after her and grabs her hand. “What are you doing?” 

She turns and blinks beguilingly up at him. “Have a drink with me,” she wheedles. “There’s all these bottles from all the places we’ve been - we should taste some of them, don’t you think?”

He gives her a skeptical look. “ _Some_ of them?”

“Alright, _one._ Just one drink. Come on, have a drink with me. Loosen up a bit!” She tugs gently on his arm.

He purses his lips in mild annoyance. He was in the middle of a fascinating chapter about dwarven runecraft, and he’d been hoping to finish it after finding Elia a snack and putting her to bed. But as he frowns at her playful face, he suddenly notices a hint of vulnerability in the cant of her eyebrows.

He sighs. “All right. One drink. Just one,” he says severely. He reluctantly steps into the wine cellar. He’s never been particularly fond of alcohol, and he’s been unimpressed with the few alcoholic beverages he’s encountered in this era. He doubts that the ragtag collection of bottles they’ve picked up during their travels will change his mind. 

Elia ignores his recalcitrance and beams at him, then pushes him towards the table in the dusty cellar. He sits on the edge of the table and watches with a weary patience as Elia flits from shelf to shelf, apparently undecided about which liquor to try.

“What do you think? Abyssal peach could be good!” She reaches for the bottle. 

“No,” Solas says. 

She turns to stare at him. “What, you don’t like peaches?” 

He shrugs bad-temperedly. “I am not in the mood for something fruity.”

She tuts and rolls her eyes, then turns back to the shelves. “Fine, what about… Alvarado’s bathtub boot screech?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, and Elia snorts with amusement. She peruses the shelves for a moment longer, then gives a tiny gasp. She rises on tiptoe and takes a bottle down from a higher shelf, then hands it to him without a word.

Solas takes the bottle and reads the inscription in a flat voice. “ _An Orlesian liqueur for the daring, or for those who wish to seem so. Said to enhance sensation. And at the bottom, an erotically carved peach pit. The design is plain, but the bottler assures that the act of carving was scandalous._ ” He raises one eyebrow at her at her mischievous face. “You are aware that this description is misleading and that alcohol is a soporific and not a stimulant, yes?”

Elia shoots him a deeply annoyed look. “Of course. I’m not a complete fool. Not all the time, at least.” She takes the bottle back and toys with the cap. 

Solas’s own annoyance fades as he studies her troubled expression. She finally removes the cap and sips from the bottle, then offers it to him.

He takes a small gulp, then suppresses a cough as the liquor burns its way down his throat. Despite the burn, he’s surprised to find it smoother than expected for a human liquor, with an almost-pleasant lingering sweetness at the back of the tongue. He hands her the bottle. “Why do you think yourself a fool?”

She sighs as she rolls the bottle between her palms. “Did I do the right thing for Bull this afternoon?” 

Solas frowns. “Of course.”

She looks up at him with wide eyes. “You’re so confident. What makes you so sure?”

He frowns more deeply. He knew she felt uneasy about losing the potential qunari alliance, but he hadn’t realized she was questioning the implications for the mercenary captain himself. “The Iron Bull was beholden to a group of superiors who cared nothing for who he was. He was an agent to them - a tool and nothing more. Now he is free. You helped him find his freedom.” 

She lifts the bottle and takes another gulp. “But he’s a Tal-Vashoth now. He always said it was the last thing he wanted to be. He hates the Tal-Vashoth.”

Solas gently tilts her chin up to look into her eyes. “The Tal-Vashoth are not a unified group, just as the Dalish are not a singular clan. There is nothing inherently abhorrent about a group of people who are labelled for turning away from a religious dogma. It is a label I would commend, in fact.” 

She nods acknowledgement, but her face is still sad. Solas takes the bottle from her hands and squeezes her fingers. “This was the right decision, vhenan. Why are you plagued by such doubts?”

She sighs again and runs her fingers through her hair. “It shouldn’t have been my decision to make. Bull knows himself better than I do. It wasn’t fair for me to decide for him.”

“Do you truly believe you made him do something against his will?” Solas asks with a hint of disbelief. He has no doubt that this is the choice the Iron Bull wanted; he knows Bull would have been tortured by the Chargers’ deaths, if it came to that. After all, Solas is far too familiar with the anguish that comes with being responsible for the death of a dear friend. 

He swallows back the cold pang of guilty grief at the thought of Felassan and drinks from the bottle in his hand without thinking. He refocuses on Elia as she sighs and shrugs. “No. It wasn’t really a choice, not really. The Chargers are his family. But still… His face when that dreadnought exploded…” 

Solas runs his hand comfortingly along the length of her arm. “Consider the alternative. If Bull had allowed the Chargers to perish, he would have grieved them. But the qunari do not grieve for soldiers who die in the course of duty. He would have needed to be re-educated.”

Elia recoils suddenly, her aquamarine eyes widening at the loaded term. “No!” she blurts.

“Exactly,” Solas says quietly. “You know as well as I that this is the choice that the Iron Bull truly wanted. You simply encouraged him to follow his chosen path.” 

Elia sighs once more, but the sound is distinctly cathartic this time. She finally smiles at him, then takes the bottle from his hand and sips from it before offering it back.

Solas takes the bottle and drinks, then looks down at Elia and lifts an eyebrow at her amused expression. “What are you smirking about?” he asks.

She jerks her chin at the bottle. “You’ve had quite a bit of that. Are you feeling stimulated yet?” she asks cheekily. 

Solas glances dismissively at the bottle. “No,” he says. If anything, he feels the opposite; his muscles are pleasantly loose, and he’s not particularly pressed to return to his tome anymore. When he lifts his gaze to her face again, his vision seems to follow the movement of his eyes just a bit too slowly. “I feel fine, thank you,” he says.

A slow smile lifts her cheeks, and she pushes herself off of the table to stand in front of him. She leans into him with a languid wavelike movement, her body pressing into his from thigh to hip to chest. She takes the bottle from his hand and takes another swig. “Well, I feel better than fine. I feel good,” she purrs. 

The words rolling from her tongue evoke the image of a slow and sinuous stretch, and Solas idly rests his gaze on the fullness of her lower lip. Her words carry a scent of sharp alcohol and ripe cherry, but he doesn’t mind the summery scent. Perhaps he was in the mood for fruit after all. 

The heated weight of her body is nice, like a comforting duvet. He inhales deeply and enjoys the feel of her breasts pressing against his chest. He slides his hands idly around her waist and over the ripe roundness of her bottom. “You are correct. You do feel good,” he says. 

She tilts her head back and laughs, and Solas gazes with lazy interest at the slender line of her throat before lowering his lips to her skin. He closes his eyes and brushes his lips along the tendon in her neck.

Her voice slides into his dreamy thoughts. “You’re humming.”

He lifts his mouth from her neck in surprise. “I am not.” He looks down at her face, but his vision continues to be uncooperative; the room swirls for a moment before he’s finally able to focus on her features. 

She grins at him and slides her fingers around the back of his neck. “You’re drunk.”

“I am not,” he says automatically, but he’s no longer convinced by his own words. He seems to be blinking in slow motion, and it feels like he and Elia are slowly dancing even though he knows they’re standing still. 

A pang of annoyance penetrates his floaty sense of wellbeing. He barely had any of the human liquor, and it shouldn’t be affecting him this way. But it belatedly occurs to him that he failed to account for his uthenera-weakened body when he agreed to a drink with her tonight. Apparently his mana isn’t the only aspect of his constitution that’s been softened by his centuries of sleep. 

He sighs and lowers his forehead against the crook of her neck. “It appears that I may be drunk,” he admits.

She bursts out laughing, and he grimaces before nipping her neck lightly in rebuke. “Don’t laugh at me. I didn’t laugh when you interrupted my reading this evening.”

She strokes his scalp and his neck soothingly, and he happily tilts his head into her touch despite his disgruntlement. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she chuckles. “A kiss to make it better?”

He doesn’t bother to answer. He lifts his face from the temptation of her throat and captures the infinitely tempting fullness of her lips instead. She sighs softly, her lips parting beneath his own, and he sinks into her without hesitation, his tongue delving deep in search of that infernal delicious cherry taste-

“Oh, hello.”

Elia springs away from him with a squeak of surprise, and he blearily scowls toward the door before recognizing the intruder with a spike of embarrassment. 

Elia speaks before he can find any words. “Cole! What are you doing down here? Would you like to have a drink with us?”

Solas frowns - spirits don’t drink, or at least they _shouldn’t_ , he himself a case in point - but Cole simply blinks at her. “Stale bread sits on the kitchen counter. They think nobody wants it, but the birds do.” His gaze drifts to Solas. “Small hurts linger here, echoes of aches embedded in stone. But I heard happiness. It was strange. I wanted to see.”

Solas straightens and lifts his chin. “I am sorry you witnessed this, Cole. It is not-” He interrupts himself with a hiccup, and Elia doubles over laughing. 

He wants to be annoyed at her, but an uncharacteristic urge to laugh is fighting its way through his chest. He forces his face into a calm expression. “It is not dignified,” he finishes. “There are others who could use your help. I assure you, we are fine here.” 

Elia leans heavily against the table. “You hiccuped,” she wheezes, then erupts into giggles again.

Cole studies her for a moment. “Every choice weighs heavy in her head. She wonders, worries, what if? What if I did the wrong thing, said the wrong thing? What if it all goes wrong? What if he regrets leaving the Qun behind?” He looks at Solas again, and Solas is surprised to see clear approval in Cole’s customarily vague gaze. “You wipe the worries away with warm words. You can help.” Finally he turns and wanders away. 

Solas waits until Cole disappears, then gently slides an arm around Elia’s waist. “Come, Inquisitor. We shouldn’t linger here.” It may be the dead of night, but Cole’s unexpected appearance makes it clear that anyone could show up at any time, and the thwarted heat in Solas’s veins is demanding a considerably more private venue.

They stumble out of the wine cellar together. She’s still giggling, but Solas’s mind is already on her bed; he’s trying to decide whether he’s more looking forward to the smoothness of her cozy sheets or the smoothness of her naked skin when she suddenly grabs his hips. 

She shoves him backward, and he stumbles and hits the wall with a surprised _oomph_ as she falls against his front. Her hip presses against his groin, and he gasps at the sudden pressure before she steals his breath with a kiss. 

All thoughts of her bed are instantly driven from his mind as her fingers slide over his abs and clench against his belt. Her hands are blunt and her kiss is messy, but what she lacks in finesse is made up for with sheer uninhibited passion. Solas greedily drinks in her reckless desire, letting it foster his own lust like raw liquor in a flame. 

He grabs her bottom with one hand and slides his other hand into the raven strands of her hair. The world spins dreamily behind his closed eyes, a swirl of midnight black and aquamarine, of sun-scented ivory skin and gentle sloping curves. The flavour of cherries and a hint of salt linger on his tongue when she breaks from their ravenous kiss. 

Her tongue lightly traces his earlobe. “I love you,” she whispers fuzzily.

Her lips are delicious, and he wasn’t finished tasting them. He cups her neck and turns her face toward his. “Ar lathis ma,” he murmurs, then gently licks her lips with tiny delicate laps.

She pants desperately against his lips, her abs tensing against his pelvis as she presses against him. He longs to feel the jumping tension of her belly against his palm, but he can’t stop tasting her scrumptious mouth. The tip of his tongue lingers at the delicate center of her upper lip, then sweeps in a gentle line between her parted lips.

She arches insistently against his chest and presses her hip harder against his swollen groin. “Solas, please,” she moans. “This is torture.”

“What is?” he murmurs vaguely. He pulls her hips hard against his own and flexes against her. He slides his lower lip against her own with a delicate caress, then resumes his precise and gentle lapping of her mouth. 

She whines in frustration and jolts against his hips. “You’re treating my mouth like you’re going down on me,” she blurts. “I really want - I - you’re making me want your mouth on me. It’s - I need-” 

He pulls away in mild surprise. He hadn’t realized what he was doing, but it makes complete sense. He was in the mood for fruit this entire time, but he wasn’t being offered the fruit he really wanted. He bites her earlobe lightly, then purrs against her ear. “Ar avemah mar ina’lan’ehn edhas.” 

She laughs breathlessly as he pulls her toward the tiny cellar library. “I know exactly what you said that time, you filthy man,” she says.

He tugs her past the shelves of dusty books toward the desk and impatiently waves his hand, and the cobweb-covered contents of the desk are suddenly displaced to the floor with a brief flare of green. “Good,” he says briskly, then pushes her onto the desk. “That is what you want, is it not?”

She’s already unbuttoning her trousers, much to Solas’s satisfaction. “Yes, yes please,” she pants, and a few clumsy, rushed moments later, she’s naked. 

He eyes his lover with extreme interest as she leans back on her palms and spreads her legs. Her eyes glow like burning coals as she stares up at him. “Please,” she whimpers. 

He needs no second bidding. He sits in the rickety desk chair and shoves her thighs apart, then licks away the delicate sheen of moisture on her inner thighs before delving into her pussy with wholehearted enthusiasm.

Elia muffles her cries of pleasure with her fist against her mouth, but Solas doesn’t care if she makes noise; he’s too preoccupied by the feel of her plump pussy against his lips. She’s slick and warm and ripe beneath the slide of his tongue, her clit a perfect little button for his lower lip to caress, and she’s so perfectly _juicy_.

He tilts his head slightly and slides his tongue inside of her until she jerks against his face, then returns to diligently lapping the nectar from her feminine folds. He rests one hand on the quivering plane of her abdomen as he circles his tongue carefully over her clit. A delicious minute later, her belly goes taut and tense as she holds her breath, and Solas carefully slides two fingers inside of her. 

“Oh fenedhis, _yes,_ ” she whines, then cries out against her fist as he pulls her rapture from her core with his persuasively coaxing fingers and his delicately swirling tongue. When her abs relax under his palm, he roughly wipes his face on her inner thigh, then tastes his way up her body in a line of nips and kisses. 

She grabs at his belt and arches toward him as he lingers on the tender underside of her breast. “Take this off,” she begs. “I need you. Right now.”

He swiftly follows her suggestion while suckling hungrily on her nipple, then reluctantly releases her breast to pull his tunic swiftly over his head. There’s no time to waste; Elia is spread wide for him, the mingled juices of her desire and of his hungry mouth shining between her legs, and he’s desperate to sink his eager cock into her welcoming heat. 

He tugs the laces of his breeches with impatient fingers, then shoves his breeches to his knees and drags her hips to the edge of the desk. “Are you ready for me?” he whispers against her ear. 

She nods furiously, her hips already bucking and her fingers pulling at his waist. “Yes, yes, now please,” she breathes.

He slams his cock into her in a single hard stroke and bites the juncture of her neck at the same time. Elia cries out uninhibitedly and grabs the back of his neck to pull him into a fierce kiss, and he thrusts into her in a furious rhythm as she thrusts her tongue into his mouth. Her fingers grip his ass, dragging him all the harder against the cradle of her hips, and he breaks from her mouth and breathes hard against her neck before biting the tender curve of her shoulder. 

She gasps sharply with every nip of his teeth, her hips lifting up to meet him with a delicious slap of skin on skin. She reaches down to take one of his hands, then places his hand at her throat. 

He slows down in his thrusting and gazes gravely into her eyes. Their aquamarine depths are feverish and intense, and she nods silently.

Without breaking from her gaze, he squeezes her throat very gently. The slow, deep rise of her collarbones immediately quickens as her breathing grows rapid with excitement, and she nods her head more urgently. “Fuck me,” she begs. 

He complies readily, his length sinking smoothly into her sleek heat, and he gasps against her cheek as her tightness envelops him again. He tightens his grip on her throat a degree more, and Elia’s nails dig into his wrist to press his fingers closer. Their joining gradually picks up speed again, their hips colliding and spinning apart to collide again, and within moments they’re fucking again with savage force.

He stares at her as she rises and flexes against him, utterly transfixed by her beauty. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted on her desperate breaths. The smooth expanse of her belly tenses and undulates as she rolls against his hips, and a roiling storm of pleasure begins to stir in his groin as he watches the slick juncture where their bodies meet. 

She cranes her neck to the side in a silent plea, and he strokes his thumb along the tense line of her jaw. He follows his thumb with a stroke of his tongue, and when Elia’s pleading gasps reach a crescendo, he bites her neck again. 

“ _Yes!_ ” she sobs, and suddenly he’s not in charge anymore: her hand on his ass is guiding him, her body rising to slam against him in a furious rhythm, and Solas is the one gasping desperately as she takes him hard and deep. 

He pants and whimpers against the juncture of her neck with increasing eagerness until the storm of rapture rips through him, dragging a strangled cry of pleasure from his throat. He bites her neck one more time as he shudders against her, then releases her throat and slides his fingers into the dampness of her hair. She tightens her arms around him in a firm embrace, and he nuzzles her jaw and her toothmarked neck with all the tenderness he can muster as he waits for his breathing to slow. 

Eventually Elia takes a deep, shuddering breath, then sighs. He can feel her smiling against his cheekbone as she speaks. “That was…” She breaks off with a breathless little laugh. 

He lifts his face from her neck and runs a tender finger along the line of the throat. “Are you all right?” he asks gently. “That was exceptionally vigorous. And I wouldn’t attribute it entirely to the liquor.”

She laughs more spiritedly. “‘Exceptionally vigorous’. I like that. And I’m fine,” she assures him. “Better than fine.” She releases him and stretches her arms languorously. “I feel like I could sleep for a year.” 

Her stretching brings her breasts closer to his face, and he contentedly nuzzles their soft curves. “Let’s go to bed, then,” he suggests. “Before the kitchen staff awaken.” He straightens and begins to step away, but Elia suddenly tenses her thighs and takes hold of his forearm. 

“Solas,” she says softly. “Thank you.”

He tilts his head and brushes back an unruly tuft of her hair. “For what?” 

“For… this. For the drink and the talk. And the sex.” She smiles briefly, then lowers her eyes. “I know you don’t like being interrupted when you’re busy. But you always know the right thing to say, and I just…well, thank you.” 

She shrugs awkwardly, and Solas studies her serious face with a wrench of guilt. It’s true that he dislikes disruptions when he’s reading or painting, but it was never his intent to make her feel that she couldn’t come to him. Suddenly he wonders how many times she shied away from approaching him when she wasn’t drunk. 

He strokes her cheek with his knuckles as he struggles to find a response. He wants to tell her that he’ll always be here if she needs to talk. He wishes he could say that she can always find him in the rotunda if she needs him. 

He bites back the bitter lies, then finally finds a truth he can tell. “You’re no simple interruption, vhenan. You’re an exquisite, magnificent distraction. The only moments I regret are the ones I wasted not being with you.”

He watches with heartsick affection as her cheeks turn pink with pleasure. She pulls him close and cradles his neck in her hands. “Solas, I… I love you so much,” she whispers. “I can’t tell you… I don’t even have the words…” 

He presses his forehead to hers. He doesn’t need her to say anything else; he understands exactly what she means, and he knows the exact word she’s lacking.

 _Lath’banal’halam,_ he thinks. He wraps her tightly in his arms and memorizes the exact feel of her sweat-sticky skin against his own. There are so many promises he can’t give her, so many secrets he can’t afford to share. But one thing that he can give her is his time. As he hugs his Dalish lover close, he silently vows to make himself more available. 

It’s the least he can do for the woman he’ll always love.

**Author's Note:**

> Elvhen phrases, thanks to [FenxShiral’s wonderful project:](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848?view_full_work=true)
> 
> \- Ar avemah mar ina’lan’ehn edhas: I’m going to eat your lovely pussy  
> \- Ar lathis ma: I love you more/I love you the most  
> \- Lath’banal’halam: a love that survives the ages for eternity in a lover’s never-ending memory.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to come and chat! xo


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